"knowings" poems
Embraced again
My soul races
And is nourished times ten.
Filled with sacred knowings -
The mind's eye is glowing.
Reaching heights
Of indigo light.
Soft
And gracing the skin
Gently
As i fall within.
Flowing amidst
I am pieces of the sea.
I innerstand the motions
Of the winds that we breathe.
I see love growing green.
Stitching in gold, the fabrics
Of our never ending dream.
Together is our only way
To save our sleeping days.
United we can awake.
I am forever chasing grace.
Blessed again
With an exotic luxury.
The world
And love's potency
Is floating me along.
I tune in to
My favourite song
And slowly drift away.
Reaching heights
Of violet light.
Quiet
And losing the time
Clearly
As I fully unwind.
Floating admist
I am particles of air.
Simple stardust being -
So transcendent and aware.
We are a never ending flow
This is the only thing to know.
So I bring this all within me.
For here's our biggest goal:
To Stretch Beyond Our Realm,
And Be One Universal Whole.
Together is our only way
to save our sleeping days.
With love we can awake.
I am forever embracing grace.
☼
(( miss.....mica. )) ***
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Court of owls
New ink, new shoes
Clocks on, I'm about to run it
Fast as my pain's Timeframe, bout to gun it
I hope you feel something better my man,
***I'm feeling something
I'm feeling something better than planned***
Tuck in the winter, dam i fall into action
springing past Morty and summer
While I'm watching TV slumber
shaking off chains of reactions
is it a new start
call it innov8ing
or maybe to our past
Definistrating
memories, atoms alternating
like the world sputters aspirating
Spit split straight portals compensating
I'm drunk on Dark matter ever oscillating
the wind turned to me
just so it could turn on me
Judgment for eternity
Experience is the same
it howled with certainty
MY Experience denied 3x
so now you hear me?
from this judgment
I'm always ripping free
I don't generate art
so you can whip at me
I might penetrate stars
The universe is an artist
so Why does it ****** us
Aint the universe ever even heard of us?
I'm the passenger and still woozy the sickness
feeling the pressure but I gotta be a witness
compassionate, no judgment
we all have our reasons
~Got a spot that I keep w33d in
Hidden with the green stem bleedin
we may have different heavens
but we come from the same soil
When others decide our emotions
Got so many reasons for defense,
reach out and tipped it for the deflect
emotions reflect the deficit of me breathe
I just shake my head
so heavy, I need rest
Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
So I adult when you consult the Occult
knowings the lotion but still decomposin
all this is music I just need to recompose it
Saved another life Now the reaper owes it
I think I've got amnesia,
Waking up to
Sir you had a seizure
Eyes always look like
Man...I wouldn't wanna be ya
Empathy
is another form of slavery we sign up for
We live and we learn
Boomerang on the mic
I go and return
But its not just about living well
its about knowing the root of life
its Taking the threads in your hands
to rack the rains and crack the chains
Caught in the dream, my ego forgets
Sleep is such a shy death
***Court of owls
Port of vowels
I am Born of miles
in the Korn of howls***
May 4, 2022
May 4, 2022 at 12:33 AM UTC
Flowing up to the surface
Submerged under the waters..
Chocking gasping for a bit of air..
swollowing.. suffocating.. On Life..
sorrows_hardships..
Just can't even imagine the reasons behind the tragedies...
Of what evils lurks in earthly places..
With the ability to rearrange and change peoples faces.
After all the hearing and the witnessing.
The feelings and the knowings.
All the seeing of evils news....
I didnt realize I was chocking emotions deeply bruise.
Anxiety snatching the ability to breath where its comfortable..
Breath normally..
Panic sneaks its way in..makes me uncomfortable in my skin.
Pulse rushing pulsating.
All of a sudden the sheer emotion of losing.
Can't see another day lighting the way..
Soul feels the falling when you realize
there's so much suffering..
Arms gone limp all passed out..From the exhaustion.
This is when God holds yah in His arms.
Calming down irregular heart beats.
God breaths His air into you. His breath is your air..
as he breath Life back into you.
Resuscitate He is the air you breath.
Without Him you can't breath there's no air without Him.
He pulls you up to this worlds surface..
This worldly ocean called life.
Where day by day moments felt like drowning.
He gives you inspiration and sets within you a song.
Tells you to keep holding on..
Revive..
The ocean is still there
but for now..I have been brought up to the surface.
hear it on soundcloud copy n paste link below
https://soundcloud.com/selinaros3y/atherbest-revive-0-1
S.A.M @h.e.r 2018
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 8:27 PM UTC
I just wish
That I knew where we stand
But I already know
Deep down
That we stand nowhere
On a shallow island
Surrounded by the depths of a Black Sea
With no escape
My feelings are trapped
Deep down
Where my knowings are
My feelings are chained together
With my emotions
And my hopes
And my fantasies
They keep sinking down to the bottom of that black sea,
Wherever it's bottom might be
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
weeding ‘n planting,
(ten rows of garlic, waiting to bite caressing hands)
<•>
unsurprisingly to me
garlic native to northeastern Iran,
so says the arbiter-know-it-all, Senor Wikipedia
did you know that,
amongst us,
a young woman whose back
is bent,
bent over,
weeding and weeping, while picking,
retrieving the fruit of the plain earths plane
spending days
retrieving spring-planted bulbs in the sun,
a mysterious poet residing among us
conjuring up poems and, **** even
plants questions
with granted permission
asks a strangers gasping queries
so simple she renders his
body from soul, makes him
disclose his crazy ill-at-ease
showing
his own
general roots,
slumbering deep in reddish brown soul’s earth
one whose only great escape
through the written poem
when his back is straight,
straight against the wall
backed up,
and ripe for the picking
in reparation
the favor will be returned
three inquiries will be fedex’d
if I ever learn her address
for now, in the throes of soil resting within,
my need knowings just nurturing
until the calendar declares time!
harvesting is now
when we ready shake hands
when you say
“here is the garlic tended,
and here are our hands,
bitten and caressed”
till such time I get
the answers from
the farmer herself,
I can patient wait
further research needs
original sources,
till such time,
make up tales
that will hold in abeyance
my half contented garlic dreams
for was it not written centuries ago:
Even After All this time The Sun never says to the Earth, "You owe me." Look What happens With a love like that, It lights the whole sky.
Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
It was in the spring,
season of new birth
that I first saw you,
weeping in a stand of
wonder that you had
sown.
You seemed then
as a grass, tall as all
the rest yet distinct,
caught in a wind,
and the scent
of blossoms.
You danced, and your
music wound its
way to the sky
and brought
the birds.
As the dawn through
a roof of young leaves
your coming woke me,
and showed me a world
of such beauty that
I felt alive, in a way
I had almost forgotten.
You were the dawn,
and the breeze in
Springtime; you were
wild and you were calm,
carefree and sorrowful,
heartless and compassionate,
thoughtless and full of
knowings. In my ignorance
you were a discord,
a tumble of notes that
proved beautiful,
despite itself. In my
ignorance you were a
wonder. In my knowledge
you are a miracle,
far beyond the reasons
of your being.
You asked if I would
remember you, and in
my heart I laughed as
well as wept. For how
could I not? To ask if I
would forget you, who
had brought such fervor
to my life; such joy.
It was beyond foolishness.
If I weep, forgive me,
for I could wish for
nothing more than to
make you smile; it is
this love in my heart
that does not permit it.
In love I say,
I will remember.
I will remember.
I will remember.
In love.
Farewell.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:57 PM UTC
We graced the morning
after wandering
one way antique streets
your pain and comfort found themselves
unwrapped from all deceit.
All you were and all you are
From your head down to your feet
called to me through rising dawn
stung with personal defeat.
And I wished that you would smile,
I prayed that you would laugh
sans misery or grief,
The way you did as we once wandered
antique one way streets.
And I know you seek redemption.
with an eye locked on belief,
And you know I love the way you looked
When the sunset kissed your cheeks.
I was silenced by beauty then,
my words were obsolete
the poets purpose put away
down antique one way streets.
I cannot write like Cohen
Or Cave, Blake or Swift
but all your inner knowings
held me in the heat
and all I ever wanted
is to never feel defeat.
But this I'll know,
and this I'll want
till time starts to retreat.
If I could take away your pain
as I know you know my grief;
I would hold you as I did that day
down antique one way streets.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
what poetry is:
a cacophony of tangled-up images
and slashed-to-the-bone words.
a waterfall of bitterness and
passion and
(words, just words).
a jumble of unorthodox punctuation,
and spacing,
and spelling,
a painting with verses of rainbow-colored years.
foggy-eyed venting,
bitter-mouthed shouting,
soft-hearted pleas
to the people
(hearts and love).
not-quite sentences,
half-finished ideas,
cliches and brutal originalities,
shocking in their genuine
and raw
and profoundly inspired power
(things we didn't know we were capable of).
cravings and achings and wantings and knowings and
(words, just words).
so won't you read between the lines?
it's all so much simpler
than it seems.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Tranquility,
A abashed day dream,
Calamity,
A reality of hearts pains.
What is it to feel one's way through an abyss of unknowns,
where the human and natural world collide in juxtaposition?
Is it that the mind can discern the hearts knowings?
Or is it the failings of the heart to render the natural rivers flow?
Shall we, as mere children, all grown and flawed in our big kid boots,
cause one another to wrongfully believe we have grasped the essence of truth through adversity? Through pain full and enveloping of the mind and the soul?
Shall we find the rule maker of this maze and thus find the exit to this contrived reality?
How is it that the simplest instructions become the foundation of or collective despise and demise?
Or was it that we as children found simplicity far too boring and dry in its humor for us to adhere too?
And if not, then pray chance did we fail to heed the warnings of self and our wishes laid waste and unanswered upon silly little broken play grounds of our imaginations?
So many questions, so many answers found lacking, for our tempered and trusted depressions of self abuse and lazy eyed visions to the core of a shared doom, a doom we all tread lightly in our heavy footed dance to say, we are sorry, as we render excuses and blame to others for our lack of adherence to what can only be understood as what is and what we all have created.
For we, are much ado about everything in its nothingness of day dreams, yet we cast such emotions out as the act of a motion to grant forward cleverness in a dull bladed running to find absolution's in one anothers arms, all the while we turn a blind eye and a reddened cheek to ourselves and the you in me and the me in you.
SO in such failings of victory we say to our selves and the collective of our hearts content, "it weren't mine" as the **** thing went blind.
Yet in all of this, we children seem to glimpse the hope so dangerous and sweet as to dare to care and realize, we are far from the edge of an oblivion so cruel and lacking, and we can truly grace a simple truth to one another, and that simplicity is called understanding.
For without it we are left on that broken play ground screaming "red rover, red rover....." and then where would the blind children of ol' Betty be then my dear friends? gone far more than just wild.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
allow me the great oppurtunity to bless ya heart with peace
take ya soul on a journey of freedom, understanding, and ease
let me travel ya mind read ya every thought and comfort your cerebellum
every bad past thought let me use all my power to shred them
let me erase any thought of ambiguity
put in your mind a thought of us and you only think longevity
can i give you my heart for the knowings of your every thought
i will allow you to be my teacher because i want to be taught
you see im no regular A.G that wants to feel between ya thighs
get entwined and let my fingers ****** deep inside
i prefer to rub your head on a rainy day
look you straight in your eyes with the most firmest face
and say baby what r you thinking whats in your head
rather than how bout i take you to my crib you strip and jump in my bed
i prefer to stare you down and strip you bare
undress myself and we go there
i want to dive deep into ya ocean
swim all strokes until i cant no more to your waves motion
no im not talking bout whats below your waste
but what is behind ya face
i want to get to know you on a intellectual level no matter how long it take
can i get engaged to your mind and marry your every thought
travel through ya pains sorrows fantasies and just get lost
i want to lick and carress in every crevice of your mind frame just to have a taste of your imagination
and after i have learned ya mind then i will explore your bodies temptation
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 10:35 PM UTC
Soon my wishes will be verses, earthworms unraveling a silk string that wraps us in the world. Ravishing, I'm raving madly, going crazy, coming, and coming undone. Your physical frame matched with your intellectual marvel drives me totally insane, dumbfounded and looking for all of my marbles. I'd sail a thousand ships to afford even just a glance, you're the oeuvre to all my movements, conducting the symphony of all we have. I've written a myriad of many books: essay, narrative, prose, and poem. That merely begin to document the excitingness interspersed within our knowings. This mirthy bliss of ours is an overture to our youth, it's this astute aloofness inside these hours fervidly wrapped in a cocoon of me and you.
I'm not coming across, the way that I initially intended to. The truth is I'm clueless on how to take something too awesome for words, and then attempt to put sentences into them. Like those pictures of you I sometimes take when you fall asleep before me. That has been a fantastic example to myself of just a miniature way I adore thee. Scotch, IPAs, and hoppy drinks splattering laughter through the room, now how can I find one of 200,000 words that could even give justice to it.
So whether or not it's romantic, I don't do it for any other reason, except that describing you and I in words is an inadequacy I'm not pleased with. When lips comfort necks, and hair comforts chests. Sleeping nestled like Bell your head nuzzled at my breast. If I could only say, how incredibeautifulamazing it's been- not last month, last year, or yesterday, but every increment between us without discriminating any piece. Then perhaps I'm getting .0001% closer to being able to describe how amazing we make each other feel.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
dug up my own bones, what
a shock, from the soil. found
myself amidst the roots and
stones, tangled up, not an act
of fiction or faith. just position.
and, so, turned to the wrought
ligaments of my jaw, i asked
"why were we buried so
shallow?". but, bones don't speak.
history is nameless and without
sight. we stand on the precipice
of a crumbling tower, and, down
in the cellar, ferment languages
unspoken. hands in pockets,
well, i wandered down,
expressionless, steps ringing
hollow on the uncatalogued
leaves of stairs, and drank deep
of tongues untouched. and such
are all knowings. and god knows
i learnt next to nothing, but that the
sun always rose. that lovers spurned
each twilight, waiting.
and for all of the square meters
grown up in glades everlasting,
for all the soil tilled and grass
come back brighter, my shoes
were all the muddier, my eyes
were full of eternal shine, my
****** heart was healin'. the
sky was only blue.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
Without an authority, you are your own authority. But yet what do you perceive? Right and wrong? Truth and false?
So can you observe within yourself?
Did you observe anything before ever observing what is inside of yourself, or was it afterwards? what floats inside of you is only what floats outside of you:
is this not how you come to being? Are you truly finding yourself? Or what are you finding about yourself?
(Your opinion is only a reflection of the exterior from yourself; But that is beyond the point.)
If there truly is not an authority, and if you are the authority; how can anything exist from you alone?
know that what you perceive isn’t from you. It is only within your consciousness.
Truly you only know that you exist because of what exists outside of your existence; although you are not proven to exist without the absence of your existence.
Whatever you trust in isn’t from you; and only faith can be what you believe in. So whatever you put your faith in
it can only be of your own knowings, but you cannot have faith in yourself alone.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
I can say with up most confidence, that I knew not what love was, till I knew what love wasn't
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:40 PM UTC
Timeless caresses
etched in my soul
beatific panoramas
all of a whole
music notes carved in clouds
angel fountains way up high
soul schools to learn from
between slices of time
No need to really talk
its all done silently
crystal buildings, halls of light
all is done mystically
planning trips to Earth
to learn lessons slow
purpose of the universe
for our souls to grow
It may take many trips
to get it just right
to finally be what we are
all our knowings, our birthright
so narry a tear
when things are a painful song
its just another step
the road slow and long
we will reach our destiny
where we started from
knowing pur love and joy
our reward when we are done
Nov 16, 2009
Nov 16, 2009 at 3:51 AM UTC
Which is my church with its green leaves, brown grass
and pine’s bark, all foresting in one motion.
I shall forest rituals of sacrifice,
but without Catholicizing faces drawn
from dark Crusading and my exiling.
Annaling to mark the sun’s solstice for Eastering
and holying days, the dew
coalescing upon the darkening and browning grass
at midnight and cooling air
arching constellations
and the mooning of the night: the cue
to lying for rest
by the small pool in this placing or
to strike, savaging at prey.
Owling as it does, darting as it does,
from a bed of branches, crying,
soundlessly shooting at a forest mouse, leaves
rustling for this night’s Nativity,
this one lifts its butterflying wings
like the soul’s silhouette
taken by an angeling force to heaven.
After owling, angeling, butterflying,
one must create Jesus as a verb.
Having witnessing these things,
limits are paining, as are knowings and doings.
The mouse must have been distracting
this owl from its offspring, thus it was Christing:
sacrificing itself for its children, thus fathering.
Seeing angels fluttering under the moonlight,
Hairshirting is my Church after living here,
after travelling through East of Eden in daylight.
Simplifying the Word---so heartwrenching---near
dawn or dusk, being as a penumbra’s cusp
I am Giotto’s halo in human form, keeper
of the haze, smoke, storm, and most of all, cup
from my own despairing.
Always there more to God than pain.
Churching myself is my work, thus by expressing
this foresting, owling, angeling, butterflying,
I narrate my life’s kingdom.
Only beautiful words for my Beatrice, Florence,
and re-Edening.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:33 PM UTC
Amazon like air
Moist, warm and enveloping
Taste ancient knowings
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
floating smoke in the summer air
drifting along then dissipates.
the pounding in a head,
vessels pulsing and constant movement.
fingers dancing across a keyboard, to
incorporate a checklist of knowings and
to-be-knowns -
the insecurities of new scenery
mile marker after mile marker
and you’re happy, but irresolute.
someone tripped over the cord again,
yanked it out and dragged it away
a moment, and a guarantee
let’s look and see, to be sure there’s something more
than a simple crank of a machine, grown
rusted and unmanageable over years
I’m tracing back,
looking for something
I think I missed it.
these fingers that hold my wrist
and suggest
“please, let me assist”
you know what’s best.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 9:09 PM UTC
(my answer to her "Scar")
~
drawn to her and here
by mutual friend,
a not-so-neutral standerby,
i am undone by reading
her entreating,
questions haunting...
why?
i too will never understand
how scars can heal
how love divides.
the hurting, haunting
ever daunting
rage and hate inside,
it turns me
to an ever wanting
knowledge...
why?
the answer comes
in whispered winds,
in knowings deep within.
this mortal plain
does not remain;
this clock
will one day stop;
this heart will beat
this side no more;
these feet will
draw unto this chest,
when fleeting moments,
thought-filled words,
my last i love you's
whispered from my breast.
and then the realness,
truest journey starts
where all i take
is what i've made
and carry there
within this heart.
a redefining mission.
as i introspective, listen,
to my Creator whispering,
*"welcome to my new beginning!
you, i've waited long to hold;
'well done' on earth is not the end,
for she was just the womb.
this place, your home,
now birthed anew;
the journey now embarks.
i'm thrilled you packed
so carefully,
the treasures carried
in your heart."*
~
*post script.
more could be said, but why?
for we know the answer if
we listen to the whisperings within.
SPT, a gifted artist...
mostly because she asks
such beautiful,
soul-searching
questions!*
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1449901/scar/
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
tree once was i
tall straight and true.
growing reaching
grasping for the blue patch of sky.
felled by men, all called Jack.
taken, stripped, naked
and beaten till no bark left on
my back.
slashed at torn shredded,
beaten to a pulp.
no way back,
to fresh air and blue sky.
flattened to skin's width,
stretched, rolled and dryed.
thirst, a memory of blue and
pearled sky.
blank without leaf or seed
barren and denied.
tattooed with wisdom deep
and scribblings inane.
cut into pages, windows
for enquiring brains.
words, that penned by
poets speak of forests
mighty,
of oaks and acorns,
growing.
places of intimate knowings.
tattooed, on my flesh,
stolen, rearranged.
reminiscent of recalling,
times of grace and falling.
book now i be.
but,
rather,
tree standing tall
and growing.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 7:41 AM UTC
Just as thoughts can eject the mind
And propel the mouth.
That takes the feelings
out of your heart
Where the roads come to a T
Your sure to meet.
Your fate.
That drops its life at your feet
And you hearts blisters
Will turn to scars
And you'll walk away
From the steamy room.
With the least of the knowings.
Because you are a fool.
Heads hate the hearts
Every box breaks your heart.
Even more.
Shattering.
Until the scars hurt much worse than the blisters.
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 7:59 AM UTC
You hurt me
Much like humans cause hurt to the planet Earth
Humans don't mean to pollute
Humans don't mean to destroy
We just do
It's our human nature
You hurt me
But I don't think you intentionally do so
You don't understand
How I feel.
I don't understand
How I feel
Which is why this hurts
I just wish
That I knew where we stood
But I already know deep down
That we stand nowhere
On an island
Surrounded by black seas
With no escape
My feelings are trapped
Deep down
Where my knowings are
My feelings are chained together
With my emotions
And my hopes
And my fantasies
They keep sinking down to the bottom of that black sea,
Wherever its bottom might be
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
why think so lowly of me
these flickering heart
arching back
if only you know
but
what the use of
your knowings
why think so lowly of me
it's not me
i am not flicking the flame
how could i
but
what the use of
these confessions
why think so lowly of me
those shattered imperfect dreams
gazing eyes
if only you know
but
what the use of
my explanations
you will still think so lowly of me
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 7:06 AM UTC
MOTECUHZOMA
Our priests have proven green and tenderfoot
By goggling at our late, ill auguries:
Dumbfounded, counselless, they scan their toes.
For this have I agreed to pawn my pride
In dabbling with questionable cures
By calling forth the aid of sorcerers.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Dread lord, how might your grace with confidence
Place mercenary warlocks in your trust,
Who twist their gifts toward late-night banditry,
It’s said, to paralyze their shaky preys.
Tezcatlipoca, our capricious master,
Might cloud our muddy minds yet murkier
For slumping to such dubious helps as these
If they make mock of his peculiar knowings.
TLACAELEL
Don’t worry. If they cool your fevered fears
We’ll hail their hocus-pocus as white physic.
If not, then as black fiends in iron they’ll rot.
MOTECUHZOMA
Bring in these esoteric ministers.
A guard leads in three Sorcerers
You three obscure and dicing conjurers:
Have you beheld grim omens in the clouds,
Or prodigies upon the earth? You three,
Who fathom ‘neath earth’s black and gem-jammed caverns
To skim atop cold pools of stone-blind fish
And witness those who have not winked at day;
Who sink into the water’s murky deeps,
And loiter drowsily among the weeds,
Mustering fronds and nightshades for your charms.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Have you encountered stray and mongreled men?
Or lightless nooks congeal as dead men’s shades?
Or midnight women, crablike, creep in broods?
Shall we be leveled flat by strange disease,
Or locusts, pirating their greedy shares?
From sudden deaths, from wars or wild beasts?
Shall rainstorms sink our rooftops down to jetties,
And Tlaloc drown us in a tide of bounty,
Or broil us in cruel sabbatical?
MOTECUHZOMA
You must not candy up **** truth for me.
Have you not heard our thirsting goddess cry,
And nightly croaking from the earth’s deep faults?
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 12:37 PM UTC
These three daggers that lay before me
Their handles aimed towards my head
Tell each a different story of their belonging
The first is one that has been well maintained
At it’s slender touch, it could spill my blood
The steel is fresh and it has been cared for greatly
The second is blunt at it’s edge
And holds less of a threat than the first
It’s silver swipe has faded over time
And is now a ***** grey
The last is the worst of the three
Only the handle lays before me
A relic of former knowings
The blade has left, perhaps for someone
Whose care will exceed the previous owner
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC